


if u love me now

by its_tortle



Series: stucky one shots [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, So much trauma, Trauma, inspired by a song, no beta we die like women, steve loves him anyway though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24078088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_tortle/pseuds/its_tortle
Summary: “You signed up for the guy that would pull you out of fights and steal candies from Harvey’s with you. Not this. You never signed up for this. You can be done, Steve, really. You don’t need me. You don’t have to feel guilty about not sticking around now. I’m not worth your free time, and I’m sure as hell not worth breaking up the fucking Avengers for.”ORThe one in which Bucky has a hard time believing he deserves love and Steve is there to give him all that he has.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: stucky one shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932520
Comments: 44
Kudos: 216





	if u love me now

**Author's Note:**

> hey babygirls,
> 
> i apparently have a thing for ships consisting of two traumatized guys, one blond and one brunette, in which one is named steve and the other is named something with a b, a vowel, two consonants, and a y. welcome to my first completed stucky work ever, though i'm certain there will be more to come
> 
> i was listening to the song [if u love me now](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMTtUmR20iw) by MUNA -- it's a gorgeous and profound song, i highly recommend -- for the probably hundredth time and thought a stucky fic was in definite order, so here it is. 
> 
> enjoy!

_I can read your mind, I know what you're thinking, this is not what you signed up for_

_I could pray to God, but I’m not invested and you get what you pay for_

_I've been trying to find out if anyone feels truly happy because of all that they have done_

_Cause I always seem to want more, provided that I can get some_

_I could bite my tongue, trying not to say it, that my love for you looks different_

_I could bide my time, hoping I could fix it, but it goes against my instincts_

_And I've been trying to find out if anyone feels super sure that they are deserving of someone_

_Cause I always seem to give it up, provided that I can get some_

_There's me in the corner throwing a fit, making a mess of it_

_Don't you love me now?_

_There's me under the table, hiding from my lovers and my allies_

_Don't you love me now?_

_-MUNA, If U Love Me Now_

  
  


Bucky still has nightmares, episodes, flashbacks, because of course he does.

They’ve been lessening gradually since his stay in Wakanda, and since Shuri -- God bless that girl -- had removed Hydra’s clutch on his brain, he’s officially had nothing Winter Soldier related to worry about anymore. 

Most of the time, he even feels like himself. He can remember being the kid in Brooklyn and the US army Sergeant, can recall the sound of his mom’s voice, the taste of his favorite soda, and Steve’s lithe frame silhouetted against the evening sun in their shitty Flatbush apartment. He remembers how it felt to ride the Coney Island roller coasters and the way Steve’s hands would always be charcoal stained and leave prints all over the furniture. Bucky used to bitch at him about it.

It’s wonderful, the many things he can remember now that he’s himself again.

But he can also remember screams, blood, gunshots. He can distinctly picture fearful faces and mangled bodies, bodies he put there, people he killed. Most of the memories are blurs, he can’t quite put them in chronological order or remember how he got where, but they’re vivid, and they creep up on him when he least expects them. 

Bucky’s told Steve he doesn’t really remember anything from being the Soldier, that the nightmares he has are only vague scenarios and snapshots of PTSD left over from the war. He figures that after everything, after all the trouble he caused and is still causing for his best friend, he can’t add another burden to the load. None of it is what Steve signed up for, being his friend. In fact, Bucky had been there to make his life easier before the serum, taking care of Steve and having his back when he needed it most.

Back in Brooklyn, they’d had close to no one but each other. They were attached at the hip from age eight and nine on, had been there for each other through thick and through thin. Bucky had been there when Steve had gotten that terrible case of pneumonia in ‘33, and Steve had let him cry onto his shoulder when Ruth Carlington had broken his heart at age sixteen (“broken his heart” was a great hyperbole in retrospect, but it had felt real then). Bucky had pulled Steve out of more back alley fights than he could count, and was always his protector, his companion. He didn’t plan on ever changing that, and still doesn’t plan to now, even if he’s since realized he wants Steve in more ways than a best friend should. He’s resigned to keeping that part, the being-hopelessly-in-love-with-him part, to himself.

In truth, Bucky doesn’t quite know why Steve sticks around now that he clearly doesn’t quite need protecting -- except from himself and his complete lack of self-preservation, maybe. He has a suspicion, of course, but he knows not to ask questions he doesn’t want to hear the answer to, so he lets Steve visit him in Wakanda and tries to pretend he’s just Bucky, not a tortured mess of a man that’s half Winter Soldier.

He manages to get away with it for four whole visits. 

Steve can usually only stay for a couple days before he gets called off on his next mission, so Bucky doesn't see as much of him as he’d like to. 

He worries when Steve goes off into the next fight, even though he knows that Steve can very well fend for himself these days, and that he has half a superhero team backing him. Sam might be annoying as hell, but Bucky knows he can be trusted to have Steve’s back, if not ever as well as Bucky could, and he knows enough about the Black Widow from his Hydra days to be mildly intimidated by her combat and intelligence skills. So, yeah, he knows Steve is in good hands, but there’s a nagging part of his brain that tells him no hands will ever be better than his own, even if he is more than a little messed up. Steve doesn’t know that.

When Steve comes to visit Bucky for the fifth time, it doesn’t initially look like this stay will be any different. They settle into their warm but tentative routine, basking in each other's company without getting too comfortable, because they feel the next fight is just around the corner. But as the week comes to a close and Steve’s burner phone is still startlingly silent, Bucky feels Steve relax while he begins to wonder how much longer he can come up with excuses for why he mumbles in Russian when he dreams. 

He’s managed not to have a full on episode with Steve around, but as the days drag on Bucky knows it’s only a matter of time. When he recognizes the tell-tale signs one morning, almost two weeks into Steve’s visit -- an anxious rush in his veins, a shaky hand, a phantom ache where his left arm should be -- he knows he needs to get out, keep Steve busy so that he doesn’t see him at his worst and decide he’s not worth his precious time. 

He slips out of the hut as soon as he wakes up -- which is early, close to dawn -- with Steve still asleep in the bed, and begins to busy himself with fence maintenance. Working with his hand keeps him grounded and present, which is just what he needs right now in order to not completely spiral. 

Time quickly becomes an irregular afterthought of a concept, but Bucky figures he must’ve been outside for at least an hour or two when Steve emerges in the doorway. He looks gorgeous, hair mussed and eyes bleary, the thin material of his t-shirt stretching obscenely over his chest and arms. He’s been growing a beard lately, which looks just _so_ good on him, and Bucky kind of wants to see what beard burn would feel like. He chastises his brain for taking note of all this even when he’s struggling to stay himself, but really it's no use. Even the Winter Soldier had thought Steve attractive, to the extent that he could.

Bucky forces himself to look away from Steve and back to where his hand is tying a rail to a post, careful to not get splinters from the coarse wood. That particular rail probably could’ve gone another couple weeks without replacing, but he needed something to work on.

Not seeming to take notice of Bucky’s reclusiveness, Steve saunters out into the morning sun and toward Bucky. “You’re up early,” he points out. “You okay?”

Bucky just shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve frowns at him, but before he can ask about his well-being again, Bucky asks him to run to the market for some eggs seeing as they ran out of them yesterday. It’s not a lie, but they probably could’ve gone without them for the morning, at least. If Steve notices, he doesn’t show it and goes without protest.

By the time Steve returns with two cartons of eggs, Bucky has taken to weeding the yard, which is honestly pointless given that the goats will eat the weeds as soon as they’re let onto this part of the land. Bucky doesn’t even notice that Steve is back until he calls him in for breakfast, which makes him jump and reach for the knife he has tucked into his shawl.

Steve holds up his hands and looks somewhere between concerned and amused. “It’s just me,” he says. “I made scrambled eggs.”

Bucky debates his options for a moment. “Just leave it out on the counter. ‘M not hungry right now.”

“Buck, the last time you ate was more than twelve hours ago.” There’s a telltale stubborness in Steve’s voice that Bucky loves, but finds he has no patience for right now.

“I’m fine, Steve,” he argues. “Super Soldier serum. Remember?”

He doesn’t even have to look up at Steve to know the way he clenches his jaw and squares his shoulders as if he’s getting ready for a fight. “You still need to eat.”

“Well, not now. Just leave me alone,” Bucky sighs. His voice is somewhere between angry and exhausted now.

“Buck-”

“I said, leave me alone!” 

He hadn’t meant to shout. It’s exactly what he didn’t want to do, actually. He can almost feel Steve’s surprise and the way his shoulders slump a moment later, though he’s not usually one to give up a fight. Steve shuffles back into the hut quietly, and Bucky feels like he could cry.

Instead, he pulls at the weeds more vigorously.

The distraction through physical labor method works reasonably well for a few hours, but then suddenly Bucky feels like he’s ripping at human limbs everytime he pulls on a stem and has to take a few deep breaths before switching tasks.

He tends to the goats instead, climbing into their enclosure and brushing sticks out of their fur. It works for a bit, but then he thinks he can’t trust himself not to strangle them, pictures killing them all with a terrifying effectiveness, and soon he’s back to deep breaths and running a dirty hand through his hair.

It’s then that Steve comes out, because of course he does. He scans the area, and then, seeing Bucky with his knees curled to his chest, rushes over to him with big, determined, Captain America strides.

“Buck?”, Steve questions. Bucky looks up from where his face was buried in his jeans to find his blue, blue eyes full of warmth and worry. His brain helpfully procures the thought that he doesn’t deserve even a fraction of the emotion in them.

“I’m fine,” he rasps out. “Go inside, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t budge. “Do you need some water? Or I can warm up the eggs.”

Bucky curls his hand into a fist, digging his nails into the coarse flesh of his palm. In the back of his mind he registers that he draws blood, but it really doesn’t matter just now. Stopping the pain goes against his instincts. “Just fucking go inside, dammit,” he asserts. “I’m _fine_. Fuckin’ dandy.”

Steve looks at Bucky a little incredulously. “You’re very clearly not fuckin’ dandy, Buck.” Bucky has to look away from his face. It’s too much like staring into the sun just then.

His mind reeling, Bucky gets up abruptly, almost knocking down Steve from where he was crouching next to him. He storms past him, jumps the fence, and slams the door of the hut closed as he enters.

Standing in the small, comfortable area that Bucky has made his home for the past few months, he’s overcome with the notion that he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be relying on the charity of strangers and the worry of a best friend that doesn’t need him the same way he does. He doesn’t deserve any of it, not with what he is and the things he’s done.

Against any better judgement he may have had if he wasn’t having a mental breakdown, Bucky heads to the right hand corner of the room, definitely knocking some things off of shelves as he goes, and promptly curls up under the table in the corner of the living area. He’s a bit too big for it and the vase standing atop of it falls and shatters on the ground.

The sound of the breaking ceramic morphs into one of a gunshot, clear as a bell in the haze of Bucky’s mind. And then suddenly it's dark and there’s blood, so much blood, and there’s cold and he’s the Солдат, not Bucky. His mind starts spewing out orders and missions in Russian, and coordinates in desolate counties and names of people he’s never met before. His arm is back, even colder and heavier than he remembers, sending bone-deep shocks through his shoulder and down his spine.

He can’t breathe and everything is pitch black and loud and freezing, but then suddenly there’s a warm hand on his, too gentle to be combative. Slowly, gradually, its fingers weasel between his where they are clutched in his hair and lessen their grip on it. Bucky vaguely registers that his scalp stops burning as his hand is moved, slowly and carefully, to a warm solidity. His hand flattens against it.

Slowly coming to, Bucky realizes that his hand is on Steve’s chest, rising and falling with every steady in and exhale. Eyes still closed, he tries his best to get a grip back on the present and match his breathing to Steve’s, curls his hand to clutch at the soft material of Steve’s shirt before he can think better of it. It feels like hours before he’s breathing normally again, but rationally Bucky knows it must’ve been only a few minutes.

With his brain back in 2017, Bucky is immediately overcome with a shameful anger at himself for throwing a fit in front of the one person he didn’t want to push away. He feels a few stubborn tears press against his still closed eyelids.

Steve seems to take notice of Bucky’s return to the then and now and pries Bucky’s hand from where it was pathetically grasping at Steve’s t-shirt. Instead of letting go of it, though, he takes it in both of his and cradles it, and then, against all odds, Bucky feels the press of what is unmistakably Steve’s lips against his knuckles. The soft, affectionate, beautiful gesture is gone in a second. Bucky wants it back.

“You with me, Buck?”, Steve whispers then. His voice is quiet, tentative.

Bucky can do little more than nod.

“Do you wanna try and get up?”

After a moment’s consideration, Bucky nods again. He opens his eyes just enough to see the rough outlines of things and straightens as much as he can in the limited space under the table, letting Steve pull him forward. His body feels worn thin, weaker than he thinks he’s felt since the ‘40s. With all his Captain America strength, though, Steve pulls him up easily and lets him slouch against his wonderfully warm chest. Bucky fights to hold back his tears.

Steve guides him to his blue armchair and sits him down. He crouches in front of Bucky.

“Do you want some cocoa?”, he asks.

Bucky nods again, like it’s the only thing he’s capable of. He only lets himself focus his eyes when he hears Steve rummage through his kitchen cabinet.

The damage in his hut could’ve been far worse, he thinks. Apart from a few books, a wooden figurine, a picture frame, and the vase, all seems untouched. But the sight of the blue shards of the vase, and the dried up yellow peonies that Steve had brought when he first arrived scattered around the floorboards, brings a new wave of despair upon Bucky. He can’t stop the tear that escapes his eye then.

When the water cooker is audibly on, Steve comes straight back to where he’s sitting holding a glass of water and a goddamn clementine. Bucky feels more tears coming because Steve knows him so well.

The recognition that Bucky is crying sends an almost palpable jolt through Steve’s body, and then he’s by Bucky’s side so quickly it’s a wonder that he didn’t spill the water. He crouches again, hands him the glass.

Knowing Steve won’t relent unless he drinks it and also grudgingly admitting that he’s beyond parched, Bucky downs the contents of the glass rather quickly and then sets it down on the small lampstand beside him. He can’t look Steve in the eyes.

“Is there anything else I can do?”, the blond asks softly. “I can run you a bath or we can watch a Disney movie. Have you seen _Tangled_ yet? It’s really good.”

Bucky exhales a wet, defeated sigh and draws his eyebrows into a frown. “You don’t have to do this, Stevie.”

“I- What?” Steve sounds confused. The water cooker clicks behind him, signaling that the water is boiling, but he doesn’t move. “Hey, look at me,” he prompts.

Bucky reluctantly complies and finds Steve looking up at him was a gorgeous, confused frown and a familiar stubborn spark in his eyes. He swallows.

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do,” he urges. “You know that right?”

Bucky huffs out a sad, pathetic scoff and looks away. “C’mon, Steve, you can’t possibly think I’m worth all this. All that.” He gestures vaguely. 

“Buck-”

“No, seriously,” Bucky continues. His voice stays a bit quiet, a bit watery, as though he’s resigned to his fate and accepted that this is over, that Steve can move on with his life now. “You signed up for the guy that would pull you out of fights and steal candies from _Harvey’s_ with you. Not this. You never signed up for this. You can be done, Steve, really. You don’t need me. You don’t have to feel guilty about not sticking around now. I’m not worth your free time, and I’m sure as hell not worth breaking up the fucking Avengers for.”

When Bucky looks up, he expects to find Steve looking a bit relieved. Sad, maybe, guilty, definitely, but he doesn’t expect to see heartbreak in an expression.

Steve is silent for a moment. Then, he grabs Bucky’s hand rather fiercely and looks up at him with the most determined look Bucky thinks he’s ever seen, which is a mighty tall order when your best friend is Steve Rogers. 

“Buck, I’m not here because of some mutually beneficial partnership you think I signed up for ninety years ago,” he starts vehemently. “I’m here because I love you and I think you’re damn well worth trying some freak serum and marching into Nazi territory without back-up and breaking up the Avengers ten times over for. You’re my best friend and the only person in the world that knows me inside and out and I’m here because _I want to be_. And if being in your life means making you a fucking cup of cocoa every now and then, then that’s something I’m more than willing to do. ‘Til the end of the line, Buck. Even in this century.” 

Steve breathes a little heavily when he finishes, having barely taken a breath the whole time. Bucky just sits stunned for a moment.

Eventually, he opens his mouth, eyes never wavering from Steve’s. “I’m not who I was, Steve. I lied. I still remember everything from being the Soldier. And sometimes I don’t know what’s him and what’s me and I lose control and I fuck things up. You can’t love that.”

“Try me.”

Bucky lets out a small, reluctant huff of a laugh, which coaxes one out of Steve.

When he catches Steve’s eye again, the blond continues. “You think I’m still who I was then? Hell no. We’ve all seen some shit and changed and gotten traumatized, and I’m so fucking sorry that you got the worst of it. But we’re here, and we’re alive, and that’s all I need, Buck. You and me against the bad guys.”

Bucky smiles a little sadly. “But what if I’m the bad guy?”

Steve frowns, but his lips quirk into a humorous smile. “Then I guess I'll fraternize with the enemy. I already got the UN on my back, can’t get much worse than that.”

Bucky chuckles again, which feels wonderful and foreign after the day he’s had. “Even if I am your best friend, that’s a pretty ridiculous length to go, Stevie. You know that right?”

Steve shrugs, the amused smile still on his lips. “Yeah, well I’m also quite a bit in love with you, so.”

Bucky freezes, and Steve immediately keeps talking with a feigned nonchalance that’s betrayed by the steeled set of his shoulders.

“Not that I expect anything from you now, or anything, I just thought you might as well know since we’re coming clean. Also, it explains why the fuck I’m doing what I’m doing 99% of the time and-”

Bucky interrupts his ramble. “Are you serious? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better or something?”

“What? No. I’m not.” Steve looks up at him with a stubborn set to his eyes. “It was probably a bad time to bring it up, actually, but-”

“You’re in love with me,” Bucky interrupts again.

Steve nods a little sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Bucky shoots him a quick look that says “why the hell are you apologizing?” and then, before he can question and doubt himself too much, guides Steve’s face to his and kisses him full on the mouth. 

Barely a second passes before Steve is kissing him back with all the fight he has in him -- which is a lot, considering he’s Captain fucking America --, and Bucky just about melts when Steve tenderly runs one hand through his hair and settles the other on his waist.

Bucky feels simultaneously like he’s floating through space and like he’s more grounded than he’s been in years. He can’t believe he went a full century of living without this. He’d say he could die happy now, but suddenly he wants to live forever just so that he can keep doing this.

Steve’s beard is just as soft as he thought it would be.

When they pull back, they leave their foreheads together. Steve has turned a glorious shade of red all the way down his neck and Bucky kind of wants to see how far down it goes. Later, maybe. Hopefully.

“Holy shit,” Steve breathes out between them. He’s whispering, though there’s no real reason to.

“Holy shit,” Bucky agrees. Then, squeezing Steve’s hand from where it had caught his own when they pulled away, he whispers. “I’m quite a bit in love with you too.”

Steve pulls back then, with a look of disbelief as if _he’s_ the one that lucked out. “Really?”

Bucky lightly shakes his head in his own disbelief and breaks out into a fond grin. “Yeah, really.”

“I’m gonna make you so many fucking cocoas.”

Bucky laughs and pulls Steve in for another kiss. The cocoas can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos make me grin and comments make my whole damn week. 
> 
> please don't be shy, even roast me if you wanna, honestly.
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://its-tortle.tumblr.com//) if you are so inclined. :)


End file.
